His Left Side
by Sheamaru
Summary: It's another moving day for York and Delta, but after a chase and some thought, York decides it's the last time.


**Series/Disclaimer:** Red vs Blue: Out of Mind - I DON'T OWN IT.  
**Pairing:** Kinda implied Delta/York.  
**Warning:** NONE. Lololol.

**Author's Note:** I hate writing summaries, they make me want to shank myself in the FAYCE

Srs fayce. That will only make you lololol if you know Arby n' the Chief

Latest one from my notebook. I would say it's 'fresh' but that would be a lie. I actually have another that's mostly edited and done but I'm at my friends for the weekend and I'm really doing this at his kitchen table in the time we're waiting for the Apple Crisp to heat up so we can has some with ice cream.

FUCK HIS FINAL FANTASY MUSIC.

I has a canzorz. Alright. No more inside jokes in my author's notes.

--

There was something thrilling and unsafe about 'Moving Day' - the day after the night he spent talking with Delta to decide if they should pack-up and find a new place. Being constantly on the move was tiring and despite wanting to settle somewhere for good, he could never argue the logic that he was a wanted man. Unlike some of the other agents, he didn't have an A.I to blame for running from the Freelancer Program; at least, not the kind of blame they found excusable. Delta hadn't taken his free will from him to resist the process - it was completely York's choice to run.

He adjusted the strap of his bag and checked that his gun was in an easily accessible place for the fifteenth time - _at least_. There weren't many other people out wandering around and he half regretted moving without his suit on. As he cut through the park, red and orange leaves drifted to the ground in signals of fall and his eyes followed them, picking one in every wave to follow as it made its final trip towards the ground. York hadn't realized that he'd paused until Delta was chiming through his mind, "It is not safe to stop here. You are outside of your armor and insufficiently protected. Please continue moving so we may reach our designated location on time.

"Sorry," he said, picking up his feet to continue the trek, "Just enjoying the scenery."

"Understood."

York sighed, "This would be a lot easier if I had back-up armor in a different color."

"Yes. But to procure a set of back-up armor would be quite difficult at this time," Delta analyzed without question, "You one of those at the top of Freelancer's wanted list."

"I know, D." He would have told the AI to retire but the voice was entirely in his head. The hologram was similar to the very Freelancer he was assigned - unable to project himself while they found a new place to hide out. During moves, York couldn't afford to wear his Freelancer suit - the only one he owned - because it was far too noticeable. And it was hard to deny that he felt naked without it.

"Two soldiers within 100 meters," Delta warned.

"Freelancers?"

"No. Patrolmen - Blue army. Threat level: minimal."

"I'm out of my suit, D."

"Threat level raised to high-medium. Recommended choice of action: avoidance."

"Where are they?"

"75 meters east and closing."

York silently cursed, turning his head fully to the left and even with his poor vision he could tell they'd already seen him. Running now would only be suspicious and cause them to open fire - he continued walking as if he hadn't noticed. His heartbeat stayed calm in the hopes that Delta wouldn't feel the obligation to ask him about it. He knew the A.I knew better but sometimes-

"Freeze!" York didn't bother lifting his hands aside from extending the figures of the hand holding his bag.

"Problem?"

"Drop the bag and step away," he ordered. York turned but didn't comply, a smile forming as he tossed his head to knock his hair out of his face. The patrolman sounded younger than him, by at least a few years, which cut down on the intimidation level quite a bit. Not that York really considered himself susceptible to intimidation anyway.

"You have probably cause for this search, Officer?"

"You're in Blue territory - all searches in this vicinity are to weed out the Reds trying to scout this area," he explained, "We don't find any red armor in there and you're free to go."

York shrugged, lowering the bag, "Sounds fair."

When he was three paces away, one officer closed in while the other kept his gun trained. The freelancer smiled, giving a half wave that wasn't returned. He felt the familiar tingle of a glare resting on him and shrugged again, "People are so unfriendly these days."

"What the-!?" The solider searching his bag practically fell on his butt in the hurried attempt to stand. York lowered his eyes to Delta's familiar green glow for only a second before drawing his gun and firing two shots without hesitation. Both soldiers hit the pavement but York didn't hang around to see his handiwork and ran, grabbing the straps of his bag.

"What'dya got for me, D?"

"Both suits are sending out distress signals - nearest response team is 400 meters north."

York turned into an alley, "Recommendations?"

"Hiding."

"Sounds good."

The weight of his armor in the large bag was a solid pounding pulse against his back as he ran. Its bulk was entirely different when he was wearing it when it was unnoticeable and familiar. Carrying it made him remember when it was once awkward and strange and he wasn't used to the weight. Back before Delta, when he had a name that was real and not a codeword. Before he was hunted six ways from Sunday by everyone on the map. When he wasn't his own team.

"Here - life readout is unresponsive."

York skidded in the gravel and dirt that collected in the alley, feeling it scrape at the skin of his legs despite the covering of his pants. His hands found the lock, mind returning to the Infiltration Specialist he always had been. Nothing paralleled pushing all other senses aside for a heightened cunning and focus. True there wasn't much call for his trade but these days he would break locks that had no business being broken. It was a skill, a good one, that went underappreciated and unused since his leaving Freelancer. It was just him in this world, blocking out everything except the task at hand; there was nothing beyond cracking the lock.

"Approximately thirty seconds, York."

"I got it, D," he replied, temporarily forced into acknowledging the pounding of his heart in his head as his focus was broken.

"Fifteen seconds."

"D!"

The lock clicked and York shoved his shoulder hard against the door which cracked open with an audible sound and slammed against the wall behind it. He tumbled into the room, bag falling somewhere beside him as he kicked it shut and held his leg there as if it alone would be enough to prevent anyone from breaking in. Both he and the A.I fell silent, waiting for the sound of the soldiers to run passed as they checked the area for him. After a while, York's leg dropped from the door and he pushed himself up to his knees, reaching over to pull his helmet free of the bag, "You alright, D?"

"I am fine," he replied, the green of his hologram illuminating the patch of shade they sat in, "Your vitals are at an increased state, are you-"

"I'm good," he confirmed, "Just need to catch my breath."

"I believe we are safe here. I will continue to monitor the surrounding area to the best of my abilities."

"Thanks, D."

"I'm here to assist." He was gone.

The freelancer set his helmet off to the side, enjoying a deep breath as he sprawled out on the ground again. His gaze flicked around the room which, really, was more like a giant box. A large fan in the ceiling turned slowly, casting a shadow over his face at evenly timed intervals. He closed his eyes, still able to feel the difference between shade and sun along his skin. Slowly his breathing and heart rate calmed, finding something akin to normalcy within a few minutes. But with the relaxation of equilibrium came the unease of extended silence.

A tune started in his throat as he rolled over, the humming providing a comfortable balance to the quiet. Pushing himself to his feet, he wandered around the box while one hand stayed near the wall as a guide that he didn't really need. Really, the vacancy left no room to get lost and his bag was in sight even from across the room.

"What do you think, D?" he called, his voice echoing across the void as if they were in a cave, "Why don't we stay here?"

"This living arrangement is not optimal," he replied, appearing at eye level just in front of his host, "And we do not know who owns this building."

York was looking up the towering walls, feeling his body gradually tilt back with a potential loss of balance, "So it needs a bed - we can buy it through North's spare account."

"Agent North Dakota has already requested us to stop using his funds," Delta said, his voice similar to an elder brother scolding the younger though it bared more straight forward logic than emotion.

"He always says that - but he'll give it," York turned back to his partner with a grin planted on his features, "I mean, how many times has he said it before?"

"Twenty-two," Delta reiterated evenly, "Each time because I convinced-"

"Exactly. So long as he still has his better half, we'll get the money."

"I do not think Theta will agree after this, York," he warned, "He does not support the constant danger in assisting a rouge freelancer. It poses a serious threat to Agent North Dakota."

"Thanks for the reminder, D," he said, moving back to the middle of the room to sit down. The hologram followed, stopping at his usual distance, "But tell him it's our last favor."

"I'm sorry, but I do not understand."

"This is it," York explained, falling flat onto his back, "We'll stay here. No more moving, no more hiding, no more _running_. We're just playing into their hands that way. We'll use North's account to buy this place then cut all of it off; terminate the account. Done deal."

"And how do you intend to support your other financial obligations?"

"'Infiltration Specialist' is just a fancy word for 'thief', D," he chuckled, "We'll manage. Always do."

"This choice of action has a very high risk, York. I do not understand why-"

"Think about it," he sat up, fixing the transparent image with an intense stare, "They've just been messing with us this whole time. They gave us this armor and you AI to make us better and what happened? Epsilon rips itself up in Wash's head, something that's _their _fault, and they scrap it. Say it's too dangerous and start getting rid of the AI. Like staying 'Oops' will fix it. It's their _fault _so many people had to die - that people like Tex are out of control and Wash had to suffer. It's their fault for…" he sighed, hanging his head a bit, "…everything."

Delta didn't give an immediate response and instead stood, watching York rub at his eyes and run his hand through his hair. The agent's hand slid to his shoulder, kneading at the muscle just above his brand. Memories he'd have preferred to ignore lashed against his defenses brutally and once again he found himself feeling so old. He hadn't met the other Freelancers intimately but they all seemed so young in his mind when compared to him. They seemed like kids being sent off to war to fight for something they didn't know, leaping head first into danger because no one had told them better. York had seen all of this like a thrill, something to do that might get him killed but he was _okay _with that.

Those faces he remembered had become eclipsed by the helmets, by the Freelancer Operation - by everything that stripped them of what they were. He hadn't known them all in depth but he knew enough to tell the difference. The fact that they could laugh and joke and behave their ages before all of this happened. It was hard to avoid thinking this way, it wasn't like _he _was old when he'd stepped up to the challenge, but compared to them. _I _feel _old. I know I'm not but…dammit._

Wash, particularly, stood out in his nightmares. That agony in his voice and shake in his step. The paranoia and depression. He wasn't the same and he couldn't have been. Epsilon, _their _mistake, had destroyed his trust in people, in AI, in everyone. The only image he could recall was the one of the suit with a gun pointed at him, demanding to know why he was running away.

"I do not understand," Delta said, once again pulling him out of that mental pit he always hovered near, "But I will contact North and tell him of our intentions."

"Appreciate it, D. You can retire now."

"Executing." The glow began to fade but stopped and restored itself, "York, I have a question before I go."

Having already stood, York stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and turned partially, a bit of a smile overcame his face and laughter touched the edges of his tone, "The logical, know everything Delta has a question for a flawed human like me? The end must be near." He laughed, shaking his head, "Sorry, D. What is it?"

"I do not know everything," Delta replied, tilting his head upwards towards the new height of his host, "Why do you not simply turn me over to the Freelancer Program and leave? Without me, they would have no further reason to find you."

York paused, forced to realize that he had no answer for that; nothing that would be the be all end all answer that Delta wanted. He just knew that he'd sooner die than give D back to them. The A.I was his partner, the end. No questions. They'd handed him over to him willingly and he'd trusted the other with everything. It seemed silly that such a corrupt organization could have given him something he came to trust so much but he knew what they did to the Alpha to get him and he wasn't going to risk it. Risk _him_. He couldn'trisk him.

"I just can't, D" he replied, his voice smooth and light. It bared the all the confidence of a person who was used to not having the answers, "Can't afford to lose my left side."

"I believe you mean 'won't'," the A.I corrected, "You would still be able to function at a decent capacity without the use of-"

"No. _Can't_," he turned fully around, facing the hologram completely with a look of resolve.

"I…see," Delta hesitated then nodded, "I will contact Agent North Dakota now."

York only nodded and turned around to survey the area in a manner that was probably convincing to anyone beside the two people here. He pressed his hand against the wall, the cold somewhat sobering yet his mind lingered on things further out of his reach. His eyes closed briefly and he tried to recall how he felt that day he ran. From the Director, from _them_; he couldn't remember. All that resurfaced was D's voice, talking to him through the gunfire. Being his left side.


End file.
